


sunflower seeds

by neighborhoodscum



Category: South Park
Genre: Attachment Issues, Childhood Friends, Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, One Shot, Open to Interpretation, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Running Away, Small Towns, i won't explain just what for, just kenny and butters growing up together, the seeds are a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27222895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neighborhoodscum/pseuds/neighborhoodscum
Summary: **very short, quick read!!**this is something i submitted and had published in a literary magazine back in spring 2019, but since i wrote it about kenny and butters i figured i'd share it here.kenny and butters are platonic soulmates. these are just highlights of them growing up together.
Relationships: Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	sunflower seeds

**Author's Note:**

> i thought i posted this a very long time ago, but i realized tonight that i haven't yet, so here you go! old, old piece of work from 2018 that found its way into a magazine the following year!

Sunflower seeds.

You had sunflower seeds spilled down your lap the moment I first locked eyes with you and I could tell from your panic that you were going to cry.

Your pale face turned red, your lip quivered and your baby blue eyes filled with enough tears to put a flood to shame.

I’d seen you before. I had watched you from across the classroom all month long, with your blanket laced tightly within your fingers that were always brushed up somewhere along your lips. I’d watched the way your lashes had batted when you didn’t understand what Miss Claridge had said, the blue on your tiny, chubby arms when your father had learned you had misbehaved.

I watched how you had brought the same sunflower seeds to school every day, eating them one by one throughout the day because I was captivated by how you managed to sneak it so clearly into class and never once get caught for so, so long. You always finished the bag.

I remember the day you got caught with them for the first time.

Miss Claridge pulled you aside after the recess bell rang and told you that it was no longer acceptable to eat in class, and I remember the big tears welling at the corners of your eyes. Your snacks had been confiscated, and there was still half a bag left. It wasn’t finished.

I remember the wailing of “please, please,” and begging to just finish the bag, but it never worked. You watched as she tossed it in the bin, much to your distress and you shut up so quickly it was almost scary. I stayed entranced by the way your eyes dried despite the swollen outer redness and the lashes that clung together for dear life.

I remember that you didn’t bring sunflower seeds to class for the rest of the year.

***

I remember when I went to your house for the first time.

It was second grade. Your house was much bigger than mine, fancier in the most minute ways that any person would consider average and middle class; your bright lamps and family photos that had no scratches or shatters and seemed perfectly intact had held me by my breath as I wandered up the stairs to your bedroom.

I remember sitting on the floor while you told me stories about your goldfish and how he was the best friend in the world. How much you loved dressing up in the batman costume your parents had bought you for your birthday. How you wanted so desperately to run away and live in a movie like all the kids on TV, which was frightening–I wanted the same. We sat on the carpet for so long; two six year olds, planning their great escape from the hell that was our dinky little town.

***

You taught me how to tie a cherry stem with my tongue.

I went home and immediately showed my mother who drunkenly slurred about how she could do it, too (because, apparently, I was not very impressive for a nine-year-old). I remember the one piece of hair on your head bouncing back and forth as you bobbed your head in excitement when you stuck the stem out in pride. You giggled so suddenly and hard that you nearly inhaled it and choked, but spat it back onto your plate as we sat in that Denny’s booth and laughed like the children we were.

You told me that day that you heard trains outside of your window the last night. You’d never actually heard them before. They’d started up the railroads through town again. You were so excited to see them that night.

You called me at one in the morning on your house phone.

You had seen the train go by, and you were so happy.

***

I remember when we ran away.

We were fifteen.

You had gotten so angry, so absolutely angry with your father. Always bossing you around. Ever since we were little, shoving you from place to place like a ragdoll, never being the support he was supposed to be. You’d decided we were going to leave that night, and I felt as though I had nothing left to lose. My poverty-ridden broken home where bottles and tobacco boxes littered each and every smoked-scented room in the house were all that I had in this world⎼except for you. You were my best friend, and I was willing to go anywhere for you. So, that night was the night I packed my bags and snuck out to your house. 

And we left.

We ran to the train station and hitched a ride on an empty car to who-knows-where. It wasn’t until we saw our town fade out of eyeshot that we’d realized exactly what we’d done, and we simply looked at each other and blinked. It was no big deal. We had each other, and each other was all we needed.

I remember you falling asleep on the car that night while I only scanned over your face like a paragraph I couldn’t quite grasp. We hit a small bump in the tracks, and something fell on the floor from the open pocket of your backpack.

It was an open pack of sunflower seeds, expired 9 years past the date, and it was unfinished.


End file.
